


Tea, Books, and Mutations

by what_a_dork_fish



Category: Good Omens (TV), X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Aziraphale desires all the books, Canon Disabled Character, Charles Xavier in a Wheelchair, Crossover, Erik Has Feelings, Fluff, Genderfluid Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:53:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25094890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: Charles and Aziraphale bond over books and tea. Erik and Crowley bond over being abrasive dipshits with bastard husbands. It's a lovely day in Soho.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 115





	Tea, Books, and Mutations

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually a commission by a lovely person on tumblr! I've never done a crossover before please be gentle alksdhgad;lkad

Erik was just trying to order some pizza, and Charles had already struck up a conversation with a man at the table next to them. The man kept glancing pointedly at Charles’ book, but Charles ignored him, though the slight, bastardly curl at the corner of his mouth told Erik that he knew exactly what was bothering the man.

“Charles, what do you want on your pizza?” Erik finally snapped, making the server jump.

Charles looked at him and gave him a sunny smile. “The usual,” he replied.

Erik rolled his eyes, thought back to the pizza they’d had a month ago, and gave the server that order. The boy nodded and scurried away.

“Surely you shouldn’t eat with a book open,” huffed the man Charles had been talking to, finally coming to the reason for his glares and snide comments.

“Oh, I won’t be,” Charles replied cheerfully. “It’s just that this one takes too long ordering.”

“Bullshit,” Erik snorted, making the man jump and look at him in alarm. “You’re the one with rotating favorites.”

“And you’re the one who can never decide what cheese to order,” Charles teased gently. “Mr. Fell, my husband, Erik. Erik, this charming man is Mr. Fell. He runs a bookshop!”

Ah. That would be why Charles had been drawn into conversation. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fell,” he said, remembering his manners but only because Charles would be annoyed if he didn’t. Mr. Fell looked like if someone had taken Charles and slid him all the way to the “professor” end of Charles’ aesthetic scale: short, round, white hair, impish blue eyes, and clothes that were more fit for a hundred years ago. He certainly looked like someone with a job involving books, although Erik would’ve thought more librarian than bookshop.

“The pleasure is mine, I’m sure,” Mr. Fell replied.

Mr. Fell’s food arrived; some sort of fancy one with green bits and tiny sliced tomatoes. All three of them said polite things to end the conversation, and Mr. Fell began eating while Erik asked Charles wearily, “Where to after this?”

“I’m not sure,” Charles answered thoughtfully, tracing the title on the cover of his book with his fingertip. “Maybe wander Soho? It’s been decades and I’d like to see how it’s changed.”

Erik’s mouth twisted. He knew it was a terrible idea to be confined to “tourist” areas when Charles had visited London twice a year during most of his school career, but he didn’t like these neighborhoods with tiny streets, tiny sidewalks, and people who didn’t like moving out of Charles’ way. He’d already threatened a man who kicked Charles’ chair and yelled at Charles for running over his foot.

“It will be fine, Erik,” Charles told him, smiling again, but softer.

Erik grunted, but allowed himself to be swayed.

The food was actually very good, and they finished their meal in relative silence. Well. Audibly silent.

_Why was that man so angry at you?_

_He noticed how my book is a first edition and I had it out at a restaurant. He seems the fussy type. I wonder what his bookshop looks like._

_Judging by his appearance, I’d say absolutely spotless and annoyingly alphabetical._

_Looks can be deceiving, my love._ The mental sense of Charles laughing, of gentle fingers running over his mind and leaving warmth in their wake. _Maybe it’s charmingly cluttered._

_Your idea of charming is “absolute chaos”_ _._

_You still love me, though._

Erik sent Charles a bit of his own warmth and the sense of laughter.

They finished eating quickly and left with a final polite goodbye to Mr. Fell, who was blandly polite back—until he noticed Charles’ chair, and he went from polite to surprised. Thankfully, he said nothing, and they left without awkwardness.

“How did he not notice?” Erik grumbled, holding the door for Charles.

Charles shrugged. “He was upset about the book. At least he didn’t say anything.”

“True.” Erik ran the backs of his fingers gently down Charles’ cheek, and Charles smiled up at him.

Soho wasn’t as crowded as Erik feared, although there were a few moments where Erik had to glare at people to make them move. Charles looked around in excitement, pointing out places he remembered from his school years, and complaining about how they couldn’t go in his favorite antiques shop because the aisles were so narrow.

“Some day,” Erik promised him, and Charles just gave him a sad half-smile and said nothing.

They reached a corner, and Charles exclaimed in delight. “A.Z. Fell! Oh, this place is a delight! Hardly ever open, but I’ve memorized the hours—it should be open right now!”

“How the fuck did you memorize that?” Erik asked, baffled as he stared at the sign. Charles laughed.

“It was an interesting puzzle. I had to, this shop is a landmark and also so wonderful. Help me up the steps?”

Erik nodded, opening the unlocked door and floating Charles’ chair up the steps with a single slight wave of his hand. Then he followed Charles in.

“He has new books in!” Charles exclaimed, and immediately went to an overflowing table and picked up what looked like a first edition of something strange and obscure that Charles would definitely covet and read until it fell apart. Erik looked around, frowning. This place was a disaster, and there was no way Charles could maneuver through these dangerous stacks. Still, Erik could try. The sight of books on the floor made him twitch, but he grit his teeth and only moved things when Charles needed him to.

“Oh. You again.”

Erik and Charles looked over in surprise, to see Mr. Fell standing in a doorway further into the shop, looking both resigned and annoyed. His tone had been the same.

“Hello Mr. Fell,” Charles said cheerfully. “This is a lovely shop, I must say.”

Mr. Fell blinked, apparently surprised. “Ah, thank you,” he said. Then he frowned at the book Charles had just picked up to look over.

“I’m not looking to buy,” Charles told him quickly, startling Erik. He knew that hungry look in Charles’ eye; he wanted these books. “I just missed this place.”

Mr. Fell smiled and said nothing else, but he did hover possessively as Charles and Erik went around, picking up books to look at and talk about, softly. Charles always put books back exactly where he found them, and never lifted more than three off a stack; Erik copied him, baffled. Charles was the type to search through entire cases and pull out one book on each shelf to read or buy. It came with being rich. But, well… there wasn’t really room for a library on Genosha yet.

One day.

“Hey, angel!” said a loud voice, making Erik jump and spin; a person with half their head buzzed to perhaps two inches and the rest of their red hair long and curly, huge dark sunglasses, and a black dress with black heeled boots, had just walked through the door, and was staring back with a tight mouth and eyebrows drawn down. “Who’re you?” the person demanded bluntly.

“Customers,” Erik replied shortly, and turned away.

“Oh!” Charles gasped softly, and reached out to gently wiggle a copy of _Once and Future King_ free of a shelf, holding it reverently in his hands. It looked very old and like it was going to fall apart any second. Charles held it very gently. “A real third printing,” he murmured in awe. “I’ve been looking for one of these for _years_.”

“Charles, it’s almost destroyed,” Erik sighed. “You can’t take it on a plane.”

“Of course not!” Charles said, appalled, as he looked up at Erik. “This is far too precious to bring back to Genosha, at least until there’s proper moisture control. But isn’t it beautiful?”

Erik looked at the book. It really probably should’ve been recycled a few decades ago. “Uh. Yes.”

“You just don’t appreciate old books.” Charles stroked the cover, sighed, and carefully put it back. “It’s safe here, that’s what matters.”

Erik glanced over at Mr. Fell and the newcomer, warily; Mr. Fell looked pleased, and the newcomer exasperated. “How long are we staying here?” he muttered to Charles. He didn’t like how those two were staring.

“I don’t know,” Charles murmured back, eyes wandering among the shelves. “Can’t you feel the history?”

“I can feel that the nails in these shelves are rusted to almost nothing,” Erik replied, eyeing a shelf warily. It should be cracking, or at least sagging badly; but it was straight and perfect and pristine. In fact… the whole shop was perfect. He looked around again, frowning. Yes… under the dust and books, every inch of this place looked in good repair. But there was rust everywhere, and that chair’s springs were almost gone and yet it still looked plump and comfortable, and honestly what the fuck was with the infuriating layout of these books? It was almost like Mr. Fell _wanted_ customers to trip and break things.

“Erik.”

There was a warning note in Charles’ tone. Erik’s mouth tightened, but instead of bothering with moving books, he just lifted Charles’ chair and moved him over to the next clear space.

A gasp from behind them. “Oh!” Mr. Fell said, “You’re a mutant!”

Erik couldn’t help a smirk. “Yes,” he said bluntly.

“No wonder you got in, those steps haven’t changed in—a while,” the other person said. Mr. Fell hissed something and the other person scowled. Erik looked at Charles, who had his politest smile on, but Erik could tell immediately that he had heard something unflattering if not downright rude and it had soured his mood.

“Shall we just go?” Erik asked Charles softly.

“No, it’s fine,” Charles replied, and turned back to the books.

“What’s your mutation, anyway?” the other person asked, sidling towards Erik. Mr. Fell wrung his hands and scowled, but Erik didn’t really care, so he answered.

“Magnetic field manipulation.”

“Huh.” The person cocked their head and shoved their hands in previously-unnoticed pockets in their skirt. “Wouldn’t have pegged you for a telekinetic.”

“It’s not telekinesis,” Erik replied, exasperated already. Honestly, you’d think people would realize by now. “Magnetism isn’t just moving things. I could snap every bone in your—”

“Erik!” Charles barked. “Enough!”

But while Mr. Fell looked alarmed, the other person was beginning to grin. “Oh, I like you,” they declared, and stuck out their hand to shake. “Crowley.”

Erik frowned, but shook the offered hand. “Lehnsherr,” he replied.

“Oh dear,” Mr. Fell muttered.

“Indeed,” Charles said wearily.

Erik had no idea how it happened, but somehow he ended up discussing the differences between different mutations with Crowley, while Mr. Fell swooped in to make sure Charles didn’t knock over his precious books. Erik was dimly aware of them making small talk, but he was caught up in explaining the less-obvious applications of complete control over magnetism, versus the limitations of plain telekinesis. Crowley was very intrigued, and told Erik that they, themselves were not a mutant, but they had had cause to work with a few, and they had once been nanny to a boy with the power to make illusions and hallucinations. It had been fun raising the little hellspawn, they said fondly, but it had been hard to figure out what, exactly, the limits of his power were. Nowadays he was about twenty and probably still giving his parents nightmares, though of less insubstantial means.

“Good for him,” Erik said firmly. He had the suspicion from the way Crowley talked that the parents had been rather distant. Well, if they were upset over their son’s choices, they should’ve tried to be better parents and learn about him as he grew.

Crowley’s grin was delighted.

“Buy?” Mr. Fell’s incredulous voice said, catching Erik and Crowley’s attention. They turned, surprised.

“Yes,” Charles replied calmly with a smile. “I have some very well-preserved books, but no one is reading them and I hate letting them get dusty. I can have my associate back in New York bring them over next week. And you take such good care of your collection, I’m sure they’ll be safe with you.”

Mr. Fell’s surprise became something like glee. “I would be delighted to help,” he said. “If you would like, I can bring out my list of inventory, and we’ll see if I already have duplicates.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you!”

And so they went to the back, chatting about the merits and pitfalls of collecting only old books. Erik distinctly heard a wistful tone as Charles spoke of missing his own library back home, and felt a stab of sadness. He knew Charles liked Genosha, he often said so, and they were growing all the time; but he also knew that Charles missed his old home, and teaching.

One day.

“Well, that’s a first,” Crowley said, shaking Erik out of his thoughts. He looked at Crowley, and saw a tiny, pleased smile on their face. “Your husband must’ve offered something good for Az—Fell to show him the inventory.”

“How did you know he’s my husband?” Erik asked, surprised.

Crowley raised one eyebrow and their smile grew. “It’s obvious, innit? And your necklaces match.”

That was hardly an obvious sign of marriage, but… it was true. Erik had made two tiny chess piece pendants, a knight and a king, and painted them both white. He wore the knight, and Charles wore the king. Charles had also scrounged up his parents’ wedding bands, and those were on their necklaces, too. Weddings in Genosha were more “moving in together and saying you’re married” than official registries and ceremonies. At the moment, at least.

“What’s your relationship with Mr. Fell?” Erik asked, feeling a little homesick. “You seem to know each other well.”

Crowley shrugged, smile softening. “We’re still figuring it out. Feels like we’ve been together over a thousand years, but our… families are all assholes. So it’s only been about nine years since we started something for real.”

Erik nodded, a little confused but not willing to admit it. Ah, well. “Does he actually sell any books? Charles was very excited to see that literally nothing’s changed.”

Crowley laughed. “Oh, he doesn’t sell _anything_. He’s run people off with broken tea pots when they’ve been insistent. Browsing is fine, as long as you don’t damage anything, but _buying_? Out of the question.”

Erik snorted, thinking of Charles and his coveted collection of teacups that no one was allowed to use. “Bet on how many cups of tea they’ll have before I can drag Charles back to the hotel.”

“Fifty quid. But if Fell breaks out the wine, neither of you are leaving for the night.”

~

Aziraphale was so delighted that this “customer” was actually prepared to give him books that he allowed himself to be drawn into conversation about favorite authors, judging by the amount of queer erotica on his shelves. And then he was even more delighted when Charles revealed himself to be remarkably well-read, and to have similar taste in fiction, and to prefer his tea without sugar or milk.

“So how long have you been married?” he asked curiously, when Charles made a fondly exasperated comment on his husband not understanding the importance of old literature.

Charles smiled. “Oh, about five years,” he said cheerfully. “It wasn’t really official until then. We’ve been off and on since the sixties, though.”

“The sixties!” Aziraphale exclaimed, then realized how rude he must have sounded. “I—I am very sorry, it’s just that...”

Charles smiled wider, rueful now. “It’s the face, isn’t it? I have a theory it’s the strength of our mutations; certainly my sister never aged because of hers, and a few of my students were the same.” His smile faltered, his eyes becoming shadowed—and then he brightened again. “I apologize. But yes, I’ve been speaking to my friend, who is a biological chemist, and we’re discussing how to best research the effects of mutations on aging.”

“That would be a quite interesting study,” Aziraphale commented, hoping to draw Charles away from whatever sad thoughts had taken him. “I would love to read it. Ah… may I ask, what is your mutation?”

“Telepathy,” Charles replied.

Aziraphale gasped in unfeigned delight. “Oh! I’ve always wanted to meet a telepath! Please, how does that work? Oh, bother, I’m sorry, I’m not myself today, I don’t mean to be rude.”

Charles laughed. “It’s alright. It’s been a while since I’ve met someone who’s wanted to know. I’m a geneticist with a psychology degree, so I’m not exactly sure how it _works_ , but I know what it _does_.”

It was a merry time, talking about mutations and science and books and the strange power-surge in mutations around the globe around nine years ago that everyone mysteriously forgot after the ruckus at Tadfield (if Charles noticed Aziraphale’s nervous sweating, he was certainly kind enough to ignore it). They finished two pots of tea, and it was only when Charles turned to ask Erik his opinion on something that Aziraphale noticed that Erik and Crowley were in the doorway, leaning on opposite sides in the exact same position. It was quite funny, especially since they were both wearing sunglasses and had rather soft expressions on their faces.

“Come sit, both of you,” Aziraphale offered.

Erik shook his head. “We have dinner reservations,” he said.

“It’s a fresh pot of tea, though,” Charles objected.

“You’re going to hurt yourself with all that caffeine,” Erik retorted.

“Did you forget we’ve got a table at the Ritz tonight, angel?” Crowley drawled, with a bit of a smirk. Aziraphale glared at them. They did not have a table, but knowing Crowley, one probably just conveniently opened up. “It’s been a while since you’ve stayed open this long, too.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips and frowned. His automatic response was to refuse to go anywhere when he had a good conversationalist trapped here, but he had the feeling Charles would not appreciate being held up. So he sighed regretfully and told Crowley, “Not until we finish our tea.”

Charles smiled, Crowley stuck their tongue out at Aziraphale, and Erik scowled.

It was dinnertime by the time the tea was gone, and Aziraphale and Crowley saw Charles and Erik out, with much more pleasant goodbyes than at the pizzeria.

“What nice young men,” Aziraphale commented when the door was closed.

“I dunno, the tall one’s a bit of an ass,” Crowley replied, smirking.

“Ah yes, like you?” Aziraphale retorted snidely.

“Actually, yes. And according to him, his husband is a bastard under all the sweet.” Crowley outright grinned at Aziraphale’s confusion. “You’re a tamer of assholes, angel.”

“Well, according to Charles, Erik has a good heart under his bitterness and bastardy, so that’s you in a nutshell,” Aziraphale said, and smiled smugly as Crowley immediately began to bluster and splutter. “Oh, do be quiet, dear. You’ll scare the children.”

“ _What_ children?!”


End file.
